Why Am I An Orphan?

A stick That never walked, After the death of my father. It laid, In the corner as a honey Bee, But memories murmured sweetness, My father was a hard working nature, Honest and responsible, Always worried about a family care. And paid special attention, When he felt danger, In any abnormal circumstances. A day or night, Comfortable or uncomfortable, He always led us through out the darkness, Where he imagined a burning light. Kept us warm and healthy, Cuddled and warned, Distinctions on differentiation. Love as he defines truth, A path of welfare and peace, Jealous, a narrow destructive way, That eats progress and sucks natural prosperity, Criminality, A warning sign, No further way leads to that direction. I always imagined about his world, He contributed as a civic person, And developed his identification in the society. He proved his intelligence, That he was a good person, People believes in his saying, They trust in his decisions. A stick that always reminded me, The richness of my good memories, One day unluckily, My neighour children on Bomb fire night, Burnt my memories in a heap of fire, First time I felt, Why am I an orphan?